Mummy and Daddy

July 22, 2021 7:39 am Published by EverEden 2 Comments

 

The first written-on-paper story I can remember telling anyone was short. I was six/seven years old. It was at a school assembly, and I was young and very scared. They school held assemblies in three places.  We could have it on bitumen in the courtyard in the mornings if it was mild weather. When it was hot or too cold, we would have everyone gather undercover in a big room in an unused wing of the school. When it was a short one or smaller group, we held the assembly in the back courtyard of the school.

It was a corner with a circle concrete “stage” that was ground level and had lecture theatre type semi-circular old white stone seating. The small courtyard had tall gates that shut off some of it (I guess they locked up at night? -not well enough though 😉 but that’s a story for another time.) It had the impression of being old, and the joins of the gates were rusty at the bottom where the painted white palings stuck into the bottom strip of heavy steel. It was also a kind of mouldy place with moss stains because no one ever really used that section. I actually don’t know why we had our assembly there that day, unless it was only for the lower grades or something. There were a few parents sitting on the white stone but most of them were standing because I now know, as an adult, having to get that low to the ground to sit is fucking annoying.

I loved writing-a LOT-already. By that stage, I ‘d started writing poems and putting together lyrics. I was singing with my best friend we’d record songs when we had sleepovers. Even though I was a shy kid at school, I wanted to pursue these kinds of arts. It fed something I still don’t have a name for but I know it needs to be abated with acting, singing, art, writing, growing food etc…or else things get a little funky up in my brain.

I enjoyed “creative writing” at school. The hour or so when the teacher gave up on us after lunch and wanted everyone to STFU. Sometimes in the mornings too.  The story this post is about was handwritten in pencil. #oldendays  I coloured the edges of my paper with black crayon, scratchy colouring in around the body of the text to make the focus of the paper a kind of sloppy circle. It had red scribbles too and I drew a UFO with yellow ovals for windows.

I don’t remember the specifics of the actual story, except I was abducted by aliens. The teachers liked it enough to feature it in the next school assembly…and for me to read it. it was all very rushed and it felt like maybe the teacher had forgotten they had to get their class to present something so they threw me under the bus. I actually recall it being so impromptu that I’m pretty sure neither of my parents came. Up until then, I was happy the adults liked my story, I was happy it looked pretty and that I’d got a gold sticker etc for it. I thought it was a pretty good story too, I remember that it was different from the work of the other kids.

*dun dunn DUNNNNN* As the school assembly crept closer…I was happy I’d done something well enough to impress people (it wasn’t hard, some kids bordered on being intellectually disabled at this school, I swear,) buttt I didn’t want to do it, I never was a “popular kid.” I worried about how it was going to go and if I’d screw it up or people would laugh at me.

Things become surreal when you are going to perform or show your art etc etc etc. You no longer think about the piece, or dialogue lines, or what it means to you – because it’s about to mean something to others. And that means it has to be delivered to the best of your ability.

♠Even at this age, it seemed like my achievement was snatched away by anxiety before I could enjoy it for me. 

Lol Ahh, the life of an artiste *insert dramatic sigh and faint here* or maybe it’s just me.

After my aliens were scooting me around the galaxy, I distinctly remember being bored AF of writing the story, knowing if I added anything else, this thing would go on way too long soooo…I did the thing.

You know, the thing.

The thing you do where you’re told you can’t use more than one page, or when you have a time limit or word count limit that’s snuck up on you…

—then you quickly scrawl, “….And then I woke up.”

Even at that age, I knew I couldn’t do it. Either we were told not to do that, or I already somehow knew that it was a cliche faux pas…either way I was foiled!

Soooo, I modified it…

I wrote a few lines about wanting to end the adventure with my aliens and THEN I wrote a line that I thought would work.

I can SEE my handwriting on the paper (in my head) at the bottom of the page among the crayon. The last line of my story ended with

“And then I went home to my mummy and my daddy.” 

I remember looking down at the paper, standing in front of the mic with all these people watching, having a split second decision to make. I wanted to be cooler. I thought about saying my MUM and DAD instead of what I’d written…but my teacher was behind me, over my shoulder (they did that to help the other kids read.) With that pressure, I  just said it.

I heard a whole lot of “N’awww” sounds and small chuckles as soon as the words ended. I felt like a freakn idiot, so much that apparently I still think about it decades later.

 

 

TLDR: 

*Wrote a story once.

*It was about aliens.

*Embarrassed myself.

*My mum massacred my head.

*Not to get all psycho-analytical, but shiiiittt our paths really are carved at 6?!

*Sign up for my eventual newsletter. It’s only going to be whatever the week brings – a blog post, 2 insta pics and any updates to keep you in the loop. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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All content is no copyright infringement intended. All posts are opinion only and are subject to change due to experience, kicking ass and learning how to adult more effectively. If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. Elements of original content may be reproduced with expressed permission from Ever Eden

 

 

 

 

Tags: abduction, aliens, and then I woke up, anxiety, assembly, born to write, BURN OUT, child writer, cliched, crayons, daddy, farm, faux pas, flannel, imagination, kid, mummy, mummy and daddy, nerves, no-no, peer pressure, performance, primary school, prodigy, psychological, school, Stage, story, the THING, ufo, writer